Fringe:Las Vegas
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: A weekly AU where the world of Fringe is imagined in Las Vegas. Thursday updates!
1. Episode 1, Scene 1

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _In A Motel Far From the Strip_

**FANDOM:** _Fringe_

**PAIRING:** _Jolivia (John/Olivia)_

**CHARACTERS:** _John Scott, Olivia Dunham_

**GENRE: **_Sci-fi_

**RATING: **_M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE: **_1.01 "Pilot"_

**WARNINGS: **_None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

"Oh my god!" Olivia pants, falling back onto the bed with a grin on her face.

They're in the same sleezy motel far from the Strip that they always use, sweaty and sated. The room reeks of cigarettes used by previous occupants, mingling in the stuffy air that smells of their sex. It's horrible but to Olivia it's heaven.

It's February and even though they live in one of the hottest places in the world, the desert is cold and unforgiving during the winter, especially during night, so the motel room's windows are pulled close and while there is a slight draft under the door, she is comfortable and warm under the cheap sheets and the polyester bedcover.

John is lying next to her, very close. "What?"

"This bed is loud," she states, still slightly out of breath.

"You think?"

"We can't keep doing this. Sneaking around," Olivia insists, hating that their special moments are always ruined by her paranoia.

"Department is not a massive fan of office romance. The policy seminar was endless, wasn't it? Kept finding myself staring at you, I decided to move my chair to stop," he purrs into her ear.

"Well, I think Charlie knows," she says nervously, feeling the sheets cling to her hot skin.

"No, he doesn't know."

"Well, I think he does," she maintains.

John is sweet and affectionate with his caressing fingers. "If he knew, we would be transferred. The idea somebody making a call whether not you and I get to live in the same city is unacceptable to me. Anyway that's just a preamble to a kicker, which is that…I love you."

Olivia is a little startled at the words and feels relieved when her cellphone begins to ring, excusing her from having to reply. She's quick to answer it, feeling her face still hot from John's words and her intentional lack of response.

"Olivia Dunham," she greets, recognising her superior's voice immediately. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Yes, sir. I—I...I'm on my way."

She closes the phone and says to John, "Incident at McCarren International. International flight. Charlie is on his way."

She excuses herself to the bathroom to change into her clothing and as she starts to shut the door, she can hear John on the bed answering his phone as well.


	2. Episode 1, Scene 2

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _Perfect Strangers_

**FANDOM**_: Fringe_

**CHARACTERS:** _Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop_

**GENRE: **_Sci-fi_

**RATING: **_M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE: **_1.01 "Pilot"_

**WARNINGS: **_None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

Olivia arrives in the miserably hot, war torn city of Baghdad feeling exhausted emotionally and physically; she wants nothing more than to curl up in her bed and forget anything ever happened but she couldn't even if she tried. Her mind is so hardwired to finish a job that she's been moving nonstop to get things accomplished, try to fix the problem that deep down she knows is unfixable but she keeps going, resolved to get what she wants.

She spots the man she's been seeking, his face burned into her mind after studying his DMV photo the entire flight over. "Peter Bishop? Olivia Dunham. I'm with the FBI."

He doesn't look impressed. "Okay."

"You've heard of flight 627?" she asks, trying to keep her friendly smile from looking too forced—she wants to cut the crap and tell him to get on the plane with her, but she knows enough about him to keep from straight out demanding he return to Las Vegas for her and John's sake.

He nods. "The Hamburg flight, of course.

"You may be able to help us with that," she says pleasantly.

He seems a little confused. "No, I think you've got the wrong guy."

"Your father is Walter Bishop."

She can see his body language change immediately. "The last time somebody asked me that it was an accusation," he says darkly.

She tries to remain calm. "Well, he's the man we're looking to speak with, but due to his current status, you're the only one who can provide us access."

"And what possible help could that man be to you? And what is it exactly that you're expecting me to do? Hop on a plane with you back to Las Vegas? I just got here, honey."

"I can have you on a return flight here in four days, but first—"

He cuts her off. "Let me save you the time. I'd rather stay here in Iraq. That's how much I want to see my father."

She hates begging, but she has to do anything for John. "I'm going to beg you as one human being to another. Your father may be able to save someone who is dying. Someone I care about very much."

"Sweetheart, we all care about someone who is dying," he smirks. "I can't help you, I'm sorry."

He starts to leave and Olivia realises she's going to have to play hardball. Her eyes narrow and her tone becomes nastier, dangerous. "I _know_ why you're here. I have your file."

His eyes widen a fraction and she can see that she's got him now. "What file?"

Now it's her turn to be in control. "The one the FBI would say doesn't exist. And it has everything. Where you've been, what you're running from. And what you need while you're here. So, either you come with _me_, or I let certain people know your whereabouts."

His smile returns, a harsh mockery of happiness. "When do we leave?"

* * *

Peter still feels like a hostage and after making a few snide comments about tax payer money being used for FBI joy rides and the government's desire to help themselves before they helped others, he settles into the private jet, drinking from a water bottle provided to him.

Dunham has her cell phone pressed close to her ear, trying hard to hold still, otherwise she'll fuck up the signal inside the private jet for a third time. "Did the doctor say anything else? Yeah. Thanks, Charlie."

She closes the phone, biting her lips and looking lost in thought; he can see even with an update on the injured agent, her mind hasn't been eased. He wants to remark on her comments about 'someone I care about very much', but he decides to save those cards for later—it might not be in his best interest to get her too mad.

Tired of watching her wallow in her own angst, he turns the attention back to him—after all, _he's_ the one being blackmailed back to the States. "Let me ask you something." Her eyes turn to look at him, looking as though she'd forgotten he was sitting across from her. "My father, not my favourite. He is without a doubt the most self-absorbed, twisted, abusive, brilliant, myopic son-of-a-bitch on the planet. So he was a chemist. That much I already know. He worked out of a basement lab in UNLV, doing research for a toothpaste company. I also know that there was an accident at the lab one night, when my father was arrested. Beginning the first truly peaceful period in our home, but here is the thing, Olivia: my gut tells me that your friend's life—the one hanging in the balance?—is not going to be saved by a tube of toothpaste."

Her brow furrows in confusion, shaking her head slowly. "He worked out of UNLV, but not on toothpaste. He was a part of a classified US Army experimental program called Calvin Genetics. They gave him the resources to do whatever work he wanted. Which was primarily in an area called 'fringe science'."

He stares at her for a moment, expecting her to laugh and say _'Just kidding!'_ but he can tell she's serious. "When you say 'fringe science', you mean pseudo-science."

She gives a slight shrug. "I suppose. Things like mind control, teleportation, astral projection. Invisibility, genetic mutation, re- animation, fertility—"

He holds up a hand to stop her. "Whoa, excuse me for a second. Re-animation, really? So you're telling me...what? My father was Dr. Frankenstein?"

She bites her lips again, looking incredibly uncomfortable and he can see that yes, that's exactly what she's trying to tell him. He gives a tired sigh and prepares himself to ask difficult questions.


	3. Episode 1, Scene 3

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _Henderson, Nevada_

**FANDOM:**_ Fringe_

**CHARACTERS:** _Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop, Walter Bishop_

**GENRE: **_Sci-fi_

**RATING: **_M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE: **_1.01 "Pilot"_

**WARNINGS: **_None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

Saint Claire's is located on the southern most end of Henderson, a satellite city to Las Vegas. Second largest in Nevada, the city emerged during the forties to supply the country with magnesium, the 'miracle metal' of World War II. Close to the Strip, Henderson is a place Olivia's visited many times for investigations and now she's headed out once more, this time with Peter Bishop in the passenger seat.

"Jeez, this place is way out in the middle of nowhere," he comments as they drive through a very empty and isolated stretch of desert.

"Even if you could escape, there's no place to go," Olivia agrees, noting how they're the only vehicle on this road to the asylum.

Strong wind blows the SUV, kicking dust and sand across the windshield and Peter says, "This isn't far from the PEPCON plant."

She glances over at him. "Pardon?"

"PEPCON. Pacific Engineering Production Company of Nevada. Back in 1988 there was a major explosion on site, followed by six more explosions—killed two people, injured almost four hundred, cost over $100 million in damage. The explosion was so powerful it caused damage all the way in Vegas."

"That's over ten miles away!"

"The largest explosions reached over 3.0 on the Richter scale. You don't remember that?" He gives something that starts to look like a smile. "You're not from here, are you?"

"No." She didn't move here until she went to boarding school which was in the nineties. "Do you remember it?"

Bishop's face instantly loses emotion and he turns to look out the window. "I'd rather not talk about it."

* * *

St. Claire's is all high walls, concrete, dust, and empty souls. Olivia's skin crawls as she walks through the super-max, looking at the guards wearing Kevlar and holding shotguns. Peter seems to be equal uncomfortable and pauses as they reach the entrance of the empty dining hall.

"You know what? Why don't you go on ahead?"

She nods and goes in with the escort, leaving him behind. Olivia wasn't sure what she expected but when she enters the dining hall, she finds Walter Bishop sitting at a table facing away from her.

"Dr. Bishop, special day. You have a visitor," the guard with her says, his voice echoing off the walls.

She stands still, calling out, "Hello."

He glances behind him to look at her and she fights back the urge to flinch—he looks wild. "I knew someone would have come. Eventually."

Walter and Olivia move to a table to sit across from one another as two armed guards wait nearby. She gives him a file with John's information and current status, photos of the unusual condition of his body and after a few minutes of Bishop's strange under-the-breath mutters, she asks,

"Dr. Bishop? Dr. Bishop?"

The older man speaks to himself for a moment longer as he studies the file she's brought him; finally, he speaks. "This was ... when did this happen?"

"The incident on the plane happened four days ago. Agent Scott was injured the next day."

He nods, studying one of the photos. "Aderm already indurated. Translucent. Muscular tissue."

She almost can't bear to look at the horrible pictures. "On Scott? You mean can you see through his skin? Yes."

He scratches at his bearded chin. "Oh, that's not good. To see through the skin. It's tricky, it's advanced...like that."

"What's happening to him? Can it be reversed? What is it?"

His fingers begin to bend a corner of the file. "They have this horrible pudding here. Butterscotch pudding on Mondays. It's dreadful."

The ridiculous of the conversation almost makes her want to burst into tears. "It's Thursday."

He claps his hands together delightedly. "Oh. That's fantastic news! It can be reversed. What happened to your colleague. Years ago I worked with lab animals and... some of them were afflicted, but were saved."

"So, do you remember what to do?" she asks quickly, hopefully.

"This place, their choice of therapies has..." his eyes seem to be more interested in the empty doorway behind her.

"Dr. Bishop?"

The man pauses for a moment, watching his fingertip trace across the top of the table before he looks up at her. "You came here today with my son. I'm not allowed visitors you see, except immediate family. Unless the order has been lifted. And it's a simple 'if-then' formula. If you are here, then so is he. I would so much, so very much like to see him. So much."

For the briefest of moments, Bishop's eyes look human and she nods slowly. Olivia finds Peter loitering in the hallway.

"He asked for you."

"Thanks, sweetheart. I really appreciate that," he sneers.

She jabs a finger at him. "Hey, I didn't tell him you were here. Call me 'sweetheart' one more time—I'd really like that."

They have a quick staring contest and Peter finally stomps into the dining hall, Olivia following close behind.

Peter's voice is strained. "Hello, Walter."

"I thought you'd be fatter," the older man says breathlessly as he scrambles to his feet.

Peter's cheeks burn and Olivia can see the veins in his neck bulging. "You thought I'd be _fatter_? Excellent, first words. _Perfect_."

Walter's voice exhibits an unusual amount of tenderness as he starts to circle his son, Peter not allowing his father out of his sight. "No, as a boy. You were round."

Olivia feels like she's watching the proceedings to major bloodshed. "Yes, I was. Until the summer before high-school, not that I'd expect you to remember that.

"May I see something?"

Walter suddenly lunges at his son, taking hold of his face while he stares into his son's wide, terrified eyes.

"What are you doing? Take your hands off of me!" Peter shouts, shoving his father off violently enough to hit against a nearby table.

Walter stumbles, nodding to himself. "Pupils are good. They're good." He turns back to Olivia. "How advanced is your colleague's condition? Would you... something... I'm unable to deduce without a first-hand examination. I must see Mr. Scott myself, which I am unable to do. Under the present law. Unless, signed out by a legal guardian, who must be once again a relative."

Both Olivia and Walter turn to look at Peter whose eyes widen in horror. "What are you asking me to...? No! Guardian? No. Forget it."

Olivia pulls out a paper she'd had folded in her blazer pocket, unfolding it and finding a pen. "He'll do it."

"No, I will **not**," Peter insists venomously.

Olivia's sick of both Bishop men at this point. All she wants is John back to normal so she can have her life back. "One phone call," she snaps. "That's all it takes. You want me to make it? Cause I've got my phone in my pocket. Now it's out of my pocket."

Peter gives her an equally hateful look and he signs the release form with enough force to tear through the paper. "You wanted my father. Now you've got my father. Which falls into the category, be careful what you wish for, _sweetheart_."

* * *

Freshly shaven and in civilian clothing that she'd secretly stashed in the back of her vehicle, Walter sits in the backseat of the SUV as they drive away fro St. Claire's as quickly as she legally can. Peter fiddles with the radio stations as she fights the growing wind across the empty desert.

The radio station that comes in clearest is talking about things she doesn't want to listen to. _"Every effort is being made to understand what happened on Flight 627."_

Olivia quickly turns off the radio and looks into the backseat for a moment. "Dr. Bishop, I was curious. Did anyone else ever have access to your work?"

He leans over the front seats, smiling playfully. "Well, the assistants have bits and pieces...God, I suppose. I suppose the only one who really knew what I was doing was Belly."

Olivia scrunches her nose. "Who?"

Walter tries to touch the rearview mirror and narrowly misses his hand being hit hard by Peter. "Belly. William Bell, he and I shared a lab."

Olivia can't believe what she's hearing. "_William Bell_?"

Even Peter seems blown away by the information. "You shared a lab with the founder of Massive Dynamic?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know what that is. Massive Dynamic," Walter chimes.

Peter looks back into the backseat. "Ah, nothing really. Just a tiny little company." Peter's attention turns to her. "That's perfect. One guy becomes one of the wealthiest man on planet, the other guy becomes an institutionalized psychopath."

Suddenly the older man exclaims, "Oh!"

Olivia jerks her head around to look back at him. "What? What happened?"

Walter gives her a mischievous smile. "I just pissed myself."

"Excellent," Peter announces with a tart smile.

"Just a squirt," Walter adds.

As they reach Henderson city limits, they pass a billboard that proudly exclaims, _'What do we do? What __**don't**__ we do?'_


	4. Episode 1, Scene 4

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _Prince Albert in a Can_

**FANDOM:** _Fringe_

**CHARACTERS:** _Walter Bishop, Peter Bishop, Olivia Dunham, Astrid Farnsworth, Phillip Broyles_

**GENRE: **_Sci-fi_

**RATING: **_M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE: **_1.01 "Pilot"_

**WARNINGS: **_None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

At the command centre set up in the FBI field office, Broyles reviews papers and reports relating to the classified world he works in, sitting alone in the small room set aside just for him. While he's secretly been studying Dunham for almost a year, he's still caught off guard with her unusually aggressive attitude as she comes into his office without knocking, demanding,

"I need your help. I want you to know I've successfully had Dr. Walter Bishop released from St. Claire's and he requires the use of his old laboratory."

He stares at her stupidly. "I'm sorry. What?"

She speaks slower, patronisingly. "Walter Bishop's old laboratory, University of Nevada Las Vegas."

Broyles doesn't like her tone. "It would be nice to think that your tenacity in this case is a by product of a remarkable and robust professionalism. But I can't help but wonder, if it wasn't something going on between you and Agent Scott."

Broyles isn't sure she realises she's doing it, but her eyes have narrowed considerably as she cooly orders, "Get the lab for Bishop."

* * *

Walter Bishop's lab is beneath the campus of UNLV, a cavernous room connected by a network of tunnels; part of a military concept, the laboratory has access to many of the different buildings on campus, a subterranean secret that has been forgotten for decades until this afternoon.

Walter looks around the laboratory, his fingers touching at equipment covered with large drop cloths. "So much. So much happened here. And so much is about to..."

A loud gong noise makes all three of them jump and Peter shouts, "What the hell was that?"

"The doorbell!" Walter exclaims giddily as he runs over to a dusty intercom by the door, pushing a lit-up button. "Hello. Is your refrigerator running—no! Wait! I mean, do you have Prince Albert in a can?"

He releases the button, smiling at the speaker. There's a slight pause and then a feminine voice replies,

"No, but I'd be sure to let him out. Is this the lab? This is Agent Farnsworth."

Olivia pushes Walter out of the way, pressing the button. "This is Agent Dunham. Hold on and we'll buzz you in."

She presses a second button to unlock the private elevator on the side of the Majorie Barrick Museum and within a minute, a young woman wearing a navy jumpsuit with the FBI's crest and letters on the breast pocket enters. She's tucked her mirrored aviators into the crown of curls above her head and extends a hand out to Olivia.

"Agent Broyles assigned me to be your assistant, Agent Dunham. Pleasure to meet you."

"You're quite lovely!" Walter interjects cheerfully. "And what a keen jumpsuit!"

"Thank you. You must be Dr Bishop." Farnsworth shakes Walter's hand as well before she adds, "I had no idea this place existed."

Walter's demeanour suddenly becomes hostile and looks at her suspiciously, "And you aren't supposed to! This lab is secret! How did you get down here?"

"You just let her in! You tried to prank phone call her twice and then Agent Dunham unlocked the door with the intercom! Pay attention!" Peter shouts.

Walter's personality returns to ambivalent and he cries out happily, "You knew our password!"

Farnsworth apparently has some form of patience and smiles at him. "Like a treehouse."

Olivia just wants to start working already. "Dr. Bishop, I've ordered a standard forensics' work package. Is there anything else you need?"

Walter has offered his arm to Farnsworth and is giving her an impromptu tour of the lab. "Optical coherence tomograph for flesh study. Two thousand pounds of silicon. At least five anonymous blood samples from volunteer donors, micro-organism detector. NASA grade, of course. There's still NASA, yes?"

Olivia fights back a sigh. "Yes."

On the lower part of the lab, Walter comes across a large metal tank. "Oh, she's still here! This tank was the best. And a two-Year-old Bos taurus."

"A what?" Farnsworth asks as she looks into the tank.

Peter sighs. "A cow. He wants a cow."

Walter continues. "Purebred, not a crossbred, this is important. Mature weight 850 pounds, total fat average 2.37."

Olivia looks over at Peter, unsure what to think. "Is he joking?"

"Genetically, humans and cows are separated by only a couple lines of DNA. So, what's an ethical test subject?" the younger Bishop explains and Olivia can't help but notice how much he sounds like his father.

"Where'd you learn that? MIT?" she asks.

"No actually, I picked that up reading books. You should try it sometime. It's fun," he replies snidely.

Olivia shrugs as she makes eye contact with the newest member of their group. "Get him the cow."

Walter flitters around the lab, pulling off sheet after sheet to reveal the laboratory's impressive equipment and machinery. "Fantastic, thank you. Only thing better than a cow is a human. Unless you need milk. Then you really need a cow.

Farnsworth joins Olivia and Peter, a confused look on her face. "How are we supposed to get a cow down here?"

Peter points to the lab's doors. "Did you see those other tunnels? One leads to the Lied Library which has an adequate sized elevator to the basement level."

The girl's eyes widen. "Wait, you want me to walk a cow through the _library_?"

Peter smiles at the junior agent, the first honest one Olivia's seen since she's met him. "Welcome to Walter Bishop's Wonderful World of Science."

* * *

Peter has two coffees in his hand and offers one over to Olivia as she sits on the laboratory's only bench.

"Coffee?"

She glances over at him and gives a tired smile. "Thanks."

As she begins to take a sip, he decides it's time to see what exactly she knows about him. "Tell me. What else did that file say? About yours truly. How bad was it?"

Her eyes keep staring ahead. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it."

He decides it's time to apply a bit of charm, even if it's a little facetious. "Why don't you go ahead and liberate yourself because I'm here now, so I kinda feel like I deserve the truth, don't you?"

She gives him a look that makes his smile disappear.

"There was no file," he says flatly.

"I needed you back here," she replies cooly.

"So that was what? You were bluffing?"

She gives him a look that says she's sorry he had to be involved, but she isn't sorry for what she's done. "I was desperate.

He supposes he wouldn't have acted any differently in her position. "Yeah, I'm usually pretty good at reading people. That's sorta what I do."

She shrugs, a somewhat amused smile on her lips. "Yeah, well I could see you were in trouble. Anyone could see that."

He moues his lips, trying to push back his annoyance; Iraq was no walk in the park, but it was still away from Walter. "So I could have stayed. I could have stayed in Iraq."

The blonde shrugs. "You know, a car bomb went of this morning in Kirkuk. You just might owe me a 'Thank you'."

"Yeah, well, I owe a lot."

"Yeah, I figured. Mafia?"

"A guy named Big Eddie. I swear to you I'm not making that up."

He can see a slight twitch of her lips, as if she doesn't want to smile. "You owe money to a guy nick-named Big Eddie?"

He shakes his head, just as amused. "No, I owe money to a guy named Big Eddie. He had it legally changed. And the thing is, I'm not even a gambler. I mean I never was. It's just...a couple of years ago I went a bit crazy."

"I thought you were a genius, you must have had a system."

He takes another drink of coffee. "Of course there was a system. The House was cheating. But you try telling them that."


	5. Episode 1, Scene 5

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _Let's Talk_

**FANDOM:**_ Fringe_

**CHARACTERS:** _Olivia Dunham, Nina Sharp, Brandon, Phillip Broyles_

**GENRE: **_Sci-fi_

**RATING: **_M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE: **_1.01 "Pilot"_

**WARNINGS: **_None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **_None_

* * *

After learning that Morgan Steig had a twin brother that worked at Massive Dynamic, Olivia finds herself sitting down at the glass desk in The Sicilia across from a woman infamous to Las Vegas, a woman who owns the oldest casino and has strong ties to people who bury card counters out in the desert. Olivia doesn't want to talk to this woman and she let's her annoyance be known.

"I was hoping to speak with William Bell. I wasn't expecting to go to a casino for answers."

The redhead gives her a slight smile. "I'm Nina Cherubino; William isn't able to speak at this time, which is why Massive Dynamic sent you here. I'm currently acting director on behalf of the company."

Olivia wants to ask why a mobster's daughter would be acting director for a multibillion dollar corporation, but she bites her tongue—this is not the time or place to talk politics.

"Our primary suspect is a former employee of Massive Dynamic, Richard Steig, who may have used research from the company to develop a self-eradicating airborne toxin. We don't know why or for whom, but it appears he was willing to sacrifice his own brother. Whatever killed those people on that plane got onboard through his insulin pen. So, do you want to talk to me?"

Cherubino turns to the young man standing next to her. "Brandon, please assemble everything we have on Richard Steig for Agent Dunham here."

Cherubino leans back in her chair. "I remember his name. He worked in the Weapons System Research lab. He was caught three months ago trying to leave the premises with classified information. He was terminated immediately. We referred his name to the Justice Department. We have done our do diligence, Agent Dunham. And, if you choose to drag Massive Dynamic and Dr. Bell's name into this matter, you will be hearing from our attorneys."

Cherubino offers a cool smile that makes Olivia's hair stand on the back of her neck and she asks, "How long have you worked with Dr Bell?"

The redhead gets up from behind the desk, coming around the side to lean against the glass in front of Olivia. "Sixteen years. I owe Massive Dynamics my life and that is not an exaggeration. I used to be an avid presenter for The Sicilia. In a '97 charity gala we were hosting, I felt unusually tired. One day at the office Dr, Bell noticed my discomfort and insisted I go for a CAT Scan. Cancer. Spread so severely I had to have my arm amputated that week."

Olivia watches in absolute shock as Cherubino begins to remove the skin from her right hand as if it were a glove, pulling the sleeve off to reveal an entire arm built of artificial parts. "That first scanner that found my cancer was built by his company. The robotic assist tools that were used at my surgery, the drugs I took afterwards, were developed and manufactured by Massive Dynamics. And my replacement limb was designed by Bell himself."

Brandon returns to the room and hands a file to Cherubino, which she then passes to Olivia. "Everything we have on Richard Steig. Do you believe that Steig may be part of the 'Pattern'?"

Olivia is caught off guard with the question. "I'm sorry, part of the...part of the 'Pattern'?"

Cherubino's eyes widen the slightest bit. "I assumed you had clearance."

"I'm cleared to know whatever you're cleared to know, Miss Cherubino," Olivia says firmly.

Cherubino's smile becomes amused which makes Olivia's annoyance grow. "Apparently not. But suffice to say that we reached the point where science and technology have advanced at such an exponential rate for so long, it may be way beyond our ability to regulate and control them. You should know what you're getting into, Agent Dunham. I would say this to my own daughter: Be careful and good luck."

* * *

Phillip finds Dunham sitting on a bench outside in the university's xeric garden. The air is miserable, but not cold enough to be freezing.

"So, I got the lab," he says, stating the obvious because he can't think of anything else to say.

She sounds infinitely tired. "Yeah, I know you did. Thanks."

"How's it going down there?"

"Bishop says it'll be a while, but that it's looking '_auspicious_'. That was his word..." She seems to notice the way he's looking at her. "What?"

"You've done some solid work here. Locating Bishop. Getting him out, finding a way to get him to work with you. We're impressed."

Her brow furrows. "Who's '_we_'?"

He tries not to think of Nina. "What happened on that plane might be part of something more dangerous than simple terrorism."

"Simple terrorism?"

"In the past nine months," he starts, "there'd been three dozen authenticated incidents like the Hamburg flight. Most of what I'm about to show you has not been made public. John Thompson, normal kid. Went missing back in '98. Reappeared last month half way around the world, hadn't aged a day. In the past few months, 46 other children who went missing that same year turn up. Same story. Local fishermen off the coast of Sri Lanka. Reports a low flying plane emitting a high pitched frequency that blows out all their windows. An hour later, same spot, an 8.7 subsurface earthquake creates a tsunami that kills 38,000 people."

Her eyes narrow slightly. "So why are you telling me this?"

Phillip pulls a file out of coat, opening it for her to look at. "This man. A patient in Lisbon who woke up after years in a coma. Began writing, just numbers. They turn out to be exact real time coordinates of our Carrier Battle Groups in the Pacific. Intel that's classified above Top Secret."

She shakes her head, obviously having a hard time processing the information. "So how is that even possible?"

He pulls a brand new security badge with her ID photo out of his coat, offering it over to her. "Come work for me and I'll get you the clearance..."

"Stop!" she cries out.

He continues speaking in his slow and patient tone. "Dunham, there is more you need to hear.

"You must not have heard me, I said stop." Her eyes plead with him for mercy.

He ignores her. "They're calling these events 'The Pattern.' As if someone out there is experimenting, only the whole world is their lab. You've seen it now. You know."

Her eyes look down at the badge in his hand. "I don't want to know. I have a job."

"This is a more important job," he insists. "Anything, anybody you need you can have."

"I like the job I've got. And the man I do it with, which you seem have deduced on your own."

He gestures to students and faculty walking past them on the sidewalk. "Look around. You see all these people going about their lives? No idea what's happening around them and what they're in the middle of?"

"I just want to go back to before," she says softly.

He holds the badge out to her still. "Dunham, I don't think you can."


	6. Episode 1, Scene 6

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _Tell Me_

**FANDOM: **_Fringe_

**PAIRING:** _Jolivia (John/Olivia)_

**CHARACTERS:** _John Scott, Olivia Dunham_

**GENRE: **_Sci-fi_

**RATING: **_M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE: **_1.01 "Pilot"_

**WARNINGS: **_None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

Adrenaline pumps through Olivia; a highspeed chase from the hospital down the Strip, out to the desert...John had hit a large rock as he tried to turn off onto a dirt road. He's cradled in her arms—she's only just pulled him out of the overturned SUV and she's started to cry as she watches blood pour out of his mouth, flecking his incredibly pale skin.

"Ask yourself," he whispers, "why... why Broyles sent _you_... to the storage facility. Why _you_?"

She shakes her head, wishing she was back at the motel room with him. "I don't understand." Her tears are falling on his face. "Who are you working for? John, tell me," she begs, feeling the life slipping from him. "Tell me more. John..."


	7. Episode 1, Scene 7

**CHAPTER TITLE:** The Storm Approaches

**FANDOM**_: Fringe_

**CHARACTERS:** _Nina Sharp, Brandon_

**GENRE: **_Sci-fi_

**RATING: **_M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE: **_1.01 "Pilot"_

**WARNINGS: **_None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

Off at a secure location in the desert far outside of Las Vegas city limits is John Scott's body in one of William's laboratory facilities, being questioned by technicians through synaptic transfer. Don Nina "Sharp" Cherubino is impatiently awaiting the results.

Nina's office is at the top of The Sicilia, large glass walls that she can look out of to survey the city that belongs to her. She'd grown up in the desert oasis, the only child of a prominent mafia boss, this casino her family's legacy. She'd been groomed by her parents to be not only as ruthless as her father, but to be as shrewd as her mother, their plans for her to become an important part of the family business. But the Family's hold is no longer as affluential as they'd once been and as the millennium came and went, she is one of the last remaining members in the city; they are a dying breed, but she's all right with that—she has enough power now that it doesn't matter.

The door to her office opens behind her and she knows it can only be one person.

"Aunt Nina?"

She doesn't turn to look at the younger man, simply orders, "Speak."

"It's about Peter Bishop."

"He's returned home," she states, feeling a pull in her stomach at the thought her godson is back.

"Shall I have someone follow him?"

She thinks for a moment and then says, "No. Not yet."

"If you need me, I'll be downstairs."

She glances behind her and the younger man flashes her a pleased smile as she says, "Thank you, Brandon."

The door shuts and she turns her attention back to the window, to look out past the flashing neon lights to the cold, dark desert.

So.

It has finally begun.

Her godson, Walter Bishop, Olivia Dunham...they have finally joined together and it indicates that the Storm is beginning to approach. Phillip has done his job, making sure all the right people are in the right place at the right time and as she awaits the results from a corpse's interrogation, she smiles, ready for what is to come.


	8. Episode 2, Scene 1

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _That's Some Benjamin Button Shit, Right There_

**FANDOM: **_Fringe_

**CHARACTERS:** _Nina Sharp, Phillip Broyles, Olivia Dunham, Walter Bishop, Peter Bishop_

**GENRE:** _Sci-fi_

**RATING:** _M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE:** _1.02 "The Same Old Story"_

**WARNINGS:** _None_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

In the pristine white office belonging to the owner of The Sicilia stands Phillip Broyles. There are two other people in the room, Nina Cherubino and standing by her chair, security specialist Brandon Cherubino. Behind Phillip is a large screen that he'll be giving the presentation on regarding his new Fringe Division; he will give the official presentation to the members of the Committee tomorrow.

"Thank you for meeting with me at this late hour." She nods, swirling the ice cubes in her scotch, and he hands over a stack of dossiers. "Forty-three minutes ago, we were alerted to an incident at the Wallace Bromley Medical Center. While the details are still coming in, it appears to be another anomaly whose mysteries and origins remains the sole purpose of The Committee. I called you tonight to introduce you to my new team, who will now be responsible for investigating all these events." His eyes meet Nina's with a sidelong glance. "Hopefully, they will have more success than our last."

Brandon Cherubino gives a slight smirk and Phillip continues as though he didn't hear it. "Walter Bishop, dubbed by his contemporaries as a successor to Albert Einstein, worked for the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency from the late '70s..."

"...Until he was committed to the Saint Claire's mental institution for manslaughter," Nina mumbles into her drink.

Phillip does not appreciate being interrupted and frowns at her. "He was never convicted of that crime."

Nina gives him an innocent look. "But in one of your own reports, you theorize that Bishop's previous work may itself be the root of all these unexplained phenomenon."

"Given that he's been hugging a padded cell for 17 years, I think we can probably exclude him as a suspect," he points out. "However, his knowledge makes him uniquely qualified to assist our efforts while he remains in the legal custody of his son Peter."

She gives the photo in Bishop's file an unusual smile and then looks back up at him. "Yes, Peter Bishop, whose history of questionable business practices verge on fraud, yet you propose giving him access to information that, if made public, would cause mass panic."

"There's nothing we could tell him that he can't learn from his father or deduce himself, with a 190 IQ."

Nina gives a nod, obviously satisfied with the answer and then moves on to the next file, glancing up at the photo of the woman on the large screen behind him. "What were you thinking when you recruited Olivia Dunham? An FBI Agent who had an illicit affair with her partner, a man who turned out to be a traitor."

Phillip can tell that she's toying with him, seeing if he's able to explain a choice that no doubt the rest of the committee will be hesitant on. "I was thinking that a woman—who didn't hesitate to follow the evidence and expose the man she loved at the cost of great personal pain and embarrassment—must surely be worthy of our trust."

Nina's eyes leave his for a moment to look past him at the screen showing a larger than life image of Olivia Dunham.

* * *

It's early in the morning and Olivia is in her flat, looking over files from cases she worked with John, trying to find some sort of clue to help her sort this whole mess out when her cellphone rings.

"Hello?" she asks, even though she already saw that the caller ID says _P. Broyles_.

"Wake up...there's something you need to see," Broyles says flatly.

She sighs. "Well, waking up's not gonna be a problem, but thank you for the gentle nudge."

"Pick up the others and meet me in thirty minutes at Spring Valley Hospital," Broyles instructs before hanging up.

"A good morning to you, too," Olivia says to herself before getting up from her desk to get herself ready.

Seven minutes later at the small hotel the Bishops have been put up in, Peter Bishop answers the door after four knocks. His eyes squint from the brightness of the hallway lights. "You're kiddin' me, right?"

She gives him an amused smile. "Your phone was off the hook."

"That's 'cause I didn't want to get woken up."

"You need to get your father. Apparently there's something we need to see."

He rubs at his eyes. "And this something—"

"It can't wait," she says plainly.

Peter sighs and stands aside to let her in. "Okay. Walter. Hey, Walter, come on, we're—Walter? Oh come on. Tell me you're not in the closet. What the hell are you doing in there again?"

Dr Bishop has fit himself into the hotel room's closet, sitting on the floor in his pyjamas. "Where I've been for the past seventeen years is a mental hospital," he explains.

"St. Claire's. I'm the one that got you out of that place, remember?" his son says, looking tired and irritated.

Dr Bishop looks up at the two of them. "There was a patient there. Carlos. He would sing 'row, row, row your boat' every night. Funny how difficult it is to sleep without that song."

Peter sighs. "That's nice. We gotta go, Walter."

**(Investigating at the Medical Center)**

Phillip is already waiting at the hospital when Dunham arrives with the Bishops. "Hey, I got here as fast as we could," she says, hurrying over to him as Peter gets out of the car, joining them.

Phillip nods. "Twenty-seven minutes. Nicely done. Peter Bishop," he greets, shaking the younger man's hand. "I'm Philip Broyles, Department of Homeland Security. Thank you for agreeing to work with us."

Peter Bishop is just as hostile as his file says he is. "Just to be clear, I haven't agreed to anything. I'm just here as the babysitter. My father is the one you want."

Phillip nods politely. "Nice to meet you anyway. Is he coming out?"

They both look at Agent Dunham's car where Dr Bishop sits in the front passenger seat. "Well, that's unclear. He's currently in the car fiddling around with his seat warmer."

Phillip leans down slightly to the open window to look at the older scientist, kindly greeting, "Dr Bishop, hello. I appreciate you coming out tonight."

Dr Bishop glances up at him with giddy smile on his face. "I've never seen a feature like this before. It warms your ass. It's wonderful. Have you tried it?"

Inside the hospital as they walk down the halls, Phillip begins to explain the situation. "Seventeen past midnight, a woman...pregnant to term, was found alone outside the hospital. She collapsed, suffering severe abdominal pain. She's a Jane Doe. Prints and D.N.A. are being run now. Should have her I.D.'d by sundown. At twelve twenty-four, less than two minutes after she was pronounced dead, Ms. Doe became a mother."

"Did the baby survive?" Dunham asks curiously.

Phillip pulls out his notebook and pen to review the notes he'd written when he'd first received the phone call. "The newborn was convulsing, screaming in obvious pain. They placed it in a bassinet, were in the process of transferring it to an intensive care when they realized what was happening. It was growing...before their eyes."

Dunham's eyes become large. "_Growing_? You mean they could...see it getting _larger_?"

Phillip can't believe he's nodding. "That's right."

Dunham shakes her head in disbelief. "So where's the baby now?"

They turn down another hall way and up ahead there is a section cordoned off with crime scene tape. "It remained alive for nearly half an hour, this way. Finally dying from natural causes."

"Natural causes? I don't understand," Dunham says with a frown.

"What they realized is that the child wasn't just growing. It was i_ageing_/i."

Peter Bishop stops in his tracks holding up his hands. "Oh—okay, hold on a sec. It's 4:00 A.M. so I'm a little foggy, but we're supposed to believe that grandpa here was born four hours ago?"

Dunham doesn't let him answer, firing off questions. "Were there any calls or tips? Did the security cameras see how the pregnant woman got here? Did she drive herself or was she dropped off?"

"We're checking those now." Phillip turns to Dr Bishop, who seems to be very interested in a bowl of lollipops down the hall at the nurses' station. "Dr Bishop, any idea how something like this might happen?"

"I think you're probably expecting a bit much, Mr Broyles," Peter says sourly.

Dr Bishop takes the pen out of Phillip's hand and crouches, poking the corpse with the ballpoint, muttering to himself. "...Celermitosis. Disabling, reversing cell cycle inhibitors - activating them and turning CIP/KIP and INKA 4a/ARFs into catalysts... uh, ninety-two percent of caucasian newborns have blue eyes." He glances up and offers a kind smile to his son. "Yours were green." Bishop pokes the body once more and then stands up, declaring, "To understand what happened here, I'll need to run extensive tests, get these bodies to a lab. Therefore, of course, I'll need a lab immediately."

Phillip is quiet for a moment, trying to decide if the man is serious or not and then says, "Doctor, you have one. Your old lab at UNLV...we reopened it for you. Do you not remember that?"

Dr. Bishop claps his hands together in delight. "No. No, but that's fantastic news!"


	9. Episode 2, Scene 2

**CHAPTER TITLE:** _"The Scarlet Red Motel"_

**FANDOM**_:_ _Fringe_

**CHARACTERS:** _Olivia Dunham, Walter Bishop, Peter Bishop, Astrid Farnsworth_

**GENRE:** _Scifi_

**RATING:** _M_

**CORRESPONDING EPISODE:** _1.02 "The Same Old Story"_

**WARNINGS:** _Graphic medical description_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _None_

* * *

Within the secret lab beneath the campus of UNLV, there is a small office which has been commandeered by Olivia as 'hers'. It serves as her own private sanctuary away from the craziness that makes up her new job. At the moment, it is occupied by her, Peter Bishop, and Agent Broyles, who is sharing the rundown with them.

Peter isn't sparing the dramatics as he waves a picture of the full grown man-baby. "All right, let's assume for a second that bundle of joy here is for real. What are we doing here?"

"A series of events has occurred, continues to occur, that has us and other agencies on alert. These events appear to be scientific in nature and suggest a larger strategy, a coordinated effort. It's been referred to as 'The Pattern'," Broyles explains.

Peter doesn't look happy in the slightest. "Mr Broyles, I consider myself a fairly intelligent guy. But I'm not following you here."

Olivia begins to usher them out of her office and into the main lab. "Inexplicable and frightening things are happening and there's a connection somehow."

Peter gives her an especially tart smile. "_Thanks_. That much I understand."

Farnsworth leans around stack of magazines and newspapers bought for Dr Bishop, her hand covering the mouth piece of phone to her ear. "I got Henning on the phone. The hospital got a call from a guest at the Scarlet Red Motel, checking to see if the pregnant woman was doing okay."

Olivia feels her heart jump. "Was she staying there?"

Farnsworth nods, one of her long, dangling earrings shaking against her jumpsuit's collar. "Yes, with a caucasian male - 20's, brown hair... but there's no description of him or the car he was driving.

"Well, call the motel—make sure they don't touch anything. They shouldn't even go in."

Farnsworth smiles. "I already called, and you're good to go. The motel room's empty and locked."

"Dr Bishop? I may need you to take samples from the motel room. I need you to come with me." He says nothing and she repeats herself. "Walter."

Dr Bishop, who is leaning over the corpse at the moment, looks wild again, just like when she met him. "Do you see what I'm i_doing_i here?"

Peter takes a step back, frowning at his father. "Hey—relax."

"I can't figure this out with a girl buzzing in my ear," Dr Bishop snarls. "I am trying to put these pieces together like a puzzle. How this happened, how he happened to her. I'm _working_."

Peter touches her shoulder to get her attention. Come on, Olivia. I can do this. My limited stint at M.I.T. did teach me something."

* * *

"Loraine Daisy Alcott," Olivia says as she passes over the dossier on the victim.

They're at the Scarlet Red Motel, a dodgy little one-story place that tries to cash in on the seedy, kitchy appeal of Las Vegas. Painted on the doors and walls are show girls covering themselves with red feather fans, their eyes flirtatious and the paint peeling and faded. The room that the victim occupied is in the absolute centre of the U-shaped motel, across from the half-filled pool in the centre of the parking lot and drive. Olivia spots a folding chair in the algae tinted water.

Peter accepts the dossier and smirks. "Loraine Daisy... that's just sad."

"One 'r'," she says sympathetically; she doesn't like victims being badmouthed, especially over something they can't help, but she really doesn't want Peter to jump so she doesn't criticise.

They begin to go through the room collecting evidence. Peter makes his way into the bathroom while Olivia begins to notice things in the room that are disturbingly familiar to her.

"Hey," he calls out. "I think I actually got something to sample in here. It's some kind of orange gel...or Dayquil or something." He comes from the bathroom with a clear evidence bag containing a few cotton swabs of the sample. "I'm sorry about my father. He always was a little myopic."

Olivia's distracted with something more important than if her feelings have been hurt or not. "Her things were left behind, but not his."

Peter watches her study the sheets for a moment then asks, "Checking the thread count?"

He smirks at his own joke but she looks up at him, dead serious. "Yeah. Open the cabinet."

He frowns when she points to the corner. "Why?"

"There are gonna be sheets in there," she says quietly.

He does as she requests and as if she just demonstrated some cheap card trick, he laughs when he sees the sheets wadded up. "Okay, how'd you do that?"

Olivia stomps out of the room, disgusted with herself for not realising sooner what the problem was.

Peter calls after her as she walks past the car towards the enclosed pool. "Hey! Car's right here. Olivia, what's going on?"

She sits down heavily on a sun bleached plastic lounge chair, worrying her hands and resting her elbows on knees. Peter takes a seat on the chair across from her, his brow knotted in confusion.

"That's what he would do," she says lowly. "He'd go to motels ahead of time, to replace the sheets with leak-proof medical grade linen, so he wouldn't leave any blood evidence."

He shifts on the chair and it creaks. "Who?

"I know who was in that room. The killer. I know his profile. It was a case that John and I worked. Serial murders in New Jersey and New York, and we never caught him."

He grabs her firmly by the shoulders and looks her square in the eye. "Look, you can't beat yourself up 'cause you didn't catch the bastard on your first try."

She rubs the base of her palms up her forehead, breathing in deeply. "I feel like I've been asleep for the last year. Every case that John and I worked together, I have to go back and try and find whatever I missed."

He chews the inside of his cheek and then says, "Okay, then, tell me...how'd the killer do it?"

Olivia glances over to the pool water, her mind briefly wondering when the last time someone swam in it was. "When I joined the F.B.I., this was one of the cases John and I investigated together. Each time, the man would kill five young women within a few days. He's pick them up, take them to motels...and then he'd give them a muscle paralyzer. They'd be wide awake, but unable to move. He's make an incision here, along their gums. And then he'd pull their mouths open up to their eyes."

Peter winces at her illustration and quickly says, "Okay, that's enough. You can stop right there."

She ignores him. "He'd go through their nasal cavity and remove a piece of their _brain_."

"And all of this connects to magic old man-baby and the pregnant woman...how?" Peter wrinkles his nose.

"I don't know. But there's a connection somewhere. The muscle paralyzer he used was bright orange. So if that's our sample, then I'm telling you, this is our guy. Which means—" she grimaces, "—he's gonna kill again."


End file.
